Ygritte Snow
by olmyster911
Summary: A Night's Watchman has been spotted near Ygritte's camp, and he has backup... The men are scrambled to protect the Free Folk from their enemy, including Ygritte. She soon discovers men are not what she thought they were her whole life, when she meets Jon Snow.
1. Prologue

p style="text-align: left;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: 'Helvetica','sans-serif'; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA;"strongspan style="text-decoration: underline;"Prologue/span/strongbr /br /Harsh frosted winds perpetually gnawed at the face of those with the misfortune of crossing the mighty Frostfangs. Unbeknown to most claiming to live in the North, those in the emReal North /emmade the gruesome trek almost daily. It was a place of only nightmares and struggle, where everlasting snow could render a man blind. It was a place of screaming gales, a place where colossal rocks tore through the earth like the blades of the Old Gods themselves. Blizzards lasted weeks on end, with any soul stranded in the freeze condemned to their graves before the first flake of snow kissed them. The Sun rarely shone on these lands; when it did, it hastily vanished behind the never-ending carpet of drab which lingered above. br / br / Most men shuddered at the mere thought of travelling through the cruel peaks, but to the Free Folk it was home. The majority of them had never experienced any sort of warmth above freezing; with the regard that only when the boiling water of the cooking pot turned to snow was it cold. They were a hardy people, raised with the sole aim to survive, and throughout their many tribes they still possessed a strong ethos of family. Free Folk lived away from hierarchy, and they did not respect any man that believed in hereditary nobility, a 'kneeler'.br / br / Mance Rayder was their leader, an honourable man who unified the people of the North for the first time, through fear and uncertainty. Men and women alike were encouraged to fight under his command, to protect the Free Folk from human invaders and invaders indescribable. One of their major foes was the Night's Watch, who frequently bombarded their warriors from their perches high atop the Wall. Their people came from the same ancestors and the same culture, but the swift invasion of the continent by the Andals some 8,000 years previous meant they had grown separate. Vicious battles between both sides had raged on for decades, with neither offering negotiation nor a ceasefire – they were very much at war. br / br / Most recently, a man who appeared to be from the Night's Watch had allegedly been spotted sneaking around near to camp in order to gain knowledge on the Free Folk./span/p 


	2. Pt I

**Pt. 1**

Valued by her people, she was one of the finest archers in the North. Some alleged her arrow had ripped a man's stones clean from between his legs, others claimed her bow was made from pure dragonglass. One whisper about Ygritte was undoubtedly true however - she was fierce.

Growing up surrounded by men, she learnt their habits and ways quickly, giving her the opportunity to fight alongside them as if she were a man. The wilding men were always amiable with her growing up, but as she blossomed into a young woman, the perceptions of her promptly changed. She had always been special amongst them; her fiery red hair meant she had been kissed by fire, and her soft features and beaming smile meant she was a rarity. Boys she knew from childhood that had once enjoyed her personality gradually became more interested in her image.

Although she was strong, Ygritte was naïve. She never recognised the advances from the men of her camp; she saw them as friends.  
Every now and then, a lad would stumble over after an evening of ale and seek to handle her petite body, though this was always met by her flying fists and kicking legs. She was the light of the camp; all the men wanted her and all the women envied her.

As she aged small years, she began to develop a potent desire. Deep down inside of her was a furious feeling, she craved to feel pleasure, to feel what it meant to be loved for who she was and not how she appeared. She simply couldn't relieve the urge that she suffered every passing second; no wilding was good enough for her. The urge ate away at her very existence, raging like an inferno with the ferocious intensity of wildfire, and the unrestrained stretch of her tangled curls. Her need burnt so blisteringly that the bitter cold snow under her feet could disappear in a heartbeat.  
Each night she dreamt of it, and each morning it was the first thing on her mind. She knew that escaping her lust was impossible. To Ygritte, a man's love was as vital as the blood running through her veins, or the soul that occupied her body.

Then she met Jon Snow.


	3. Pt II

**Pt.**** 2**

Awakening under the cosy warmth of her bearskin cover and the soothing sound of a crackling fire, Ygritte glanced around camp. To her bemusement, there was an absence of any wilding men in sight, with just a handful of older women attending to noon's dinner by Mance's tent. Springing out of her hammock, she slipped her thick boots on, ambled towards them and queried, "Where have all the lads gone?"  
"They've caught that lad from the Night's Watch", she replied, "they've taken him to the High Cave I think."

Ygritte had overslept, preoccupied in her dreams by loneliness and desire, and missed the scout party tasked with finding the latest Night's Watchman to encroach near camp. It was not uncommon that one of their men was spotted out of their way at such a distance from the Wall; it was imperative for them to gather information about the wilding camps.

She immediately made her way to the High Cave, following the fresh tracks of the others. The frozen air bit at her rosy cheeks, making them number every moment that passed. Her furs made it tough to run, clinging at her legs and weighing her down further into the deep snow. She was used to it however, and it was paramount that she got to the cave to see for herself how Mance dealt with their enemies.

Through the screeching howl of the wind, she could make out the hubbub of the wildings in the distance. The chatter grew closer and closer, though their figures remained hidden by the squall of driving snow flurries. Heavy gusts nearly knocked her off her feet, but she persevered to the mouth of the cave. The men's roaring resonated throughout the cavern, firing loud echoes into the wind and across the icy plains.

Ygritte trod the ice delicately, ensuring she didn't slip or slide on the way. The frozen rocks shimmered a deep hue of periwinkle, lighting up the uncertain murkiness. She spun the corner to find the group of wildings converging upon a lone man dressed much the same as them.

Walking closer, she saw that he possessed long, thick curls of liquorice hair and a pair of large, innocuous bronze eyes that illuminated when brought before light. He wore his fear upon his face, and as he twirled alarmingly at the presence of her Brothers, his great fur coat thrashed at their legs. He appeared to be more than 6 feet tall, but his height lent him no favours against them; Ygritte could tell he was delicate. Tormund, second in command, thrashed the Night's Watchman to the ground and growled, "Who the fuck are you, boy?!"  
The lad howled in pain as another wilding slogged at his leg with a spear, forcing him to stay huddled on the freezing stone. Whilst shivering frenziedly and toiling to speak, Tormund struck his abdomen hard and thundered, "I said, who are ye?!"

He remained quiet, but as another blow was about to be made, he rose up slowly from the ground; this time unchallenged, and squared up right before Tormund's face, displaying a look of deep hatred. He no longer seemed gentle or sinless as he loomed over him; he was emerging dominant. The cave became noiseless. Only a faint shriek of wind dared disturb the moment.

"I am Jon Snow", he answered, before spitting into his face. Tormund lunged towards him, yet Jon escaped his path and pummelled him in the gut. He winced in agony as he tumbled into the jagged cave edge; Jon booted him in the shin to keep him down. The wilding men snapped out of their awe and tore into him like a hysterical shoal of piranhas, beating him from all angles. For a brief time, he was lost in a sea of flailing coats and surging punches. He cursed loudly with every blow that bruised his pale Northern skin. Mance belatedly raised his voice to quell them, "get off him and tie him up you oafs!"  
The lads backed away from Jon's blackened body, and Tormund surfaced with a handful of rope. He wound it round him as tightly as he could manage with his own injuries; giving him no room to squirm. "Ygritte, bring our sled from outside for our guest", said Mance as he noticed her at the end of the room. She retrieved the sled and heaved it beside him. He appeared dead. Crouching down, she brushed the locks from his face, expecting a grisly collage of black and blue bruises, but instead his eyes opened wide and stared deep into hers. He winked brazenly, and then slumped to the ground once again.

Ygritte was fascinated by this unfathomable man, this _Jon Snow_.


End file.
